


Get Close

by ziskandra



Series: All In [2]
Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: When she’s old and grey maybe she’ll be unable to remember the features of his face, nor the curve of his smile, but she’s certain she’ll never, ever, forget the way he smells.Sara can't get Liam off her mind.(The feeling is mutual.)





	1. Get Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place post-couch hook-up but pre-date on Aya! Or, the difference between not closing a door and refraining one's self from racing through said door.

 Sara is _drowning_. 

It is easy to concede, now, that she’d been attracted to Liam from the very beginning, but what she hadn’t expected was a newfound obsession with the way he _smelled._ She does her best to put it out of her mind, but all that results in is her visiting Liam’s room last when she does her rounds of the crew, and that makes it all the easier for her to, well, _linger._

She’s not doing it on purpose, she swears. Or, well, maybe she is and just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. At least he’s not walking around half-naked anymore; she’s distracted enough as is. She looks at Liam’s couch and remembers the way he’d pressed her into it, chest to chest and hip to hip, listens to his voice ( _that accent!_ ) and recalls his reassurance. Especially can't forget the way he'd smiled at her, nor the way he'd held her to his chest once all was said and done. 

But most of all, she can't forget the way he _smelled_. It was a heady scent; a combination of some cologne she couldn't pin down (a hint of cedar, or some other related Earth tree, perhaps), and mixed with the exertion of exercise.  The aroma clings to everything in the room, perforates every surface. Honestly, she can’t come in here without turning into a pool of want and desire and the worst part is she’s not even sure Liam knows what kind of effect he has on her. 

Before she leaves she takes a deep breath, lets that scent she has so uniquely identified as just _Liam_  fill her nostrils. When she’s old and grey maybe she’ll be unable to remember the features of his face, nor the curve of his smile, but she’s certain she’ll never, ever, forget the way he smells. 

Liam notices, stops, stares. “You alright, Pathfinder?” he asks, and Sara’s cheeks burn.

***

It’s just something Sara's always done to help her sleep. Eking out an orgasm from her own questing fingers is not only a good way to keep her mind off the things that haunt her, but it also helps with the regulation of her breathing, the easing of the tension she seems to carry with her everywhere these days. 

The title of _Pathfinder_  still weighs heavy on her shoulders, like a set of armour that’s three times too big. Times like these are the only moments she has to divest herself of the role, the responsibilities, and simply _be._ It’s nice, real nice, to have some privacy on a ship like this and Sara intends to take advantage of it.  

She prefers to sleep naked when she can, loves the feel of sheets against her skin, even if the thread count of the _Tempest_  bed linen leaves a lot to be desired for (idly, she makes a note to run some enquiries by Vetra; surely her new turian friend has some connections to improve their situation). Her blankets are gathered around her waist as she slips her hand down past her hips, finger darting in between her folds to press against the delicate bundle of nerves it’ll find there. 

Sara starts with slow and steady circles; she’s tired and not particularly aroused yet, but she knows the motions that will get her going. Her other hand reaches for a nipple, rolling it the opposite direction between forefinger and thumb; the dichotomy helps, she finds, sends a pang of want straight down from her chest through to her core.

The movements are perfunctory at first, just a calming nighttime ritual, but then her mind starts to fill in more details; remembers the ways others have touched her in the past, superimposes the weight of another person’s body above or beneath her. 

_And then_  she remembers the way Liam smells, all sex and outdoors and _real_  and it’s just like he’s sitting here right next to her, like he’s the one stroking her to completion.

She doesn’t last long after that.  

Once she’s done being overwhelmed by the pulsing waves of her release, she rolls over, buries her face in her pillow and groans.

Oh man, she is screwed. And not even in the way she would like.

*** 

The next time she encounters Liam, he’s leaving the bathroom as she’s about to head in. He hasn’t brought a change of clothes with him, just a towel, and goddammit, she’s only _just_ managed to stop having indecent thoughts about his naked body. He hasn’t dried off completely and droplets continue clinging to his skin. Sara wants to run her tongue down the hard planes of his chest, ravish the depression of his navel where the water would accumulate if he were lying down. Continue the path downwards, if he’d let her, and—

Liam is looking at her curiously and she’s pretty sure he can’t read minds but sometimes, she worries. She clears her throat, says, in a voice two tones higher than her normal pitch, “Oh! Hi, Kosta, didn’t see you there.” Smooth, Sara, smooth, she tells herself. She could dig herself a hole and die right about _now._

“Ryder,” he answers pleasantly in return, and it’s still not _fair_  the way his voice makes her skin tingle, “good thing you got here before Drack. He takes ages. Uses all the hot water.” 

“I did not need to know that,” she mumbles, but it’s a nice distraction from the thoughts running rampant in her mind. 

“Enjoy your shower,” Liam calls as he makes his way to leave, and as he brushes past her she takes a deep breath. There are only traces of the scents she usually associates with Liam; right now, he smells mostly of the utilitarian soap that the Tempest comes supplied with, but the traces are enough. They are more than enough.

Sara will enjoy her shower, _indeed._  

*** 

 Water beats down from overhead, its warmth doing nothing to quell Sara’s mood. She reaches for the soap, communal soap, the same as Liam had used, holds it to her face and takes a deep breath. _God_ , it smells just the way he did; _she’s_  going to smell just the way he did. She takes a moment to pin her hair back into a bun; today is not the day it gets washed. She’s got other, more important, matters to attend to. 

Matters like her throbbing, aching clit. Throwing a guilty glance around the room, she wonders if anyone else will be coming soon. Wonders, briefly, if she would care if they _did_. For a moment, she considers asking SAM to warn her if anyone approaches the bathroom, but she pushes the thought aside. She’s still not used to the voice in her head, most days, and asking for it to look out for her in this situation seems weirdly like a violation of boundaries.

(SAM, of course, is intimately linked to her physiology and there’s no hiding anything from him, but— nope, still not thinking about that today.) She washes her body with the soap slowly, carefully, then leans back against the wall to delve her fingers within her folds once more. 

The thing no-one ever mentions about masturbating in the shower is how difficult it is to gain traction. Her thighs ache with the pressure of holding up her own weight and she is just so  _dry_ that direct contact with her anatomy chafes. She’ll have to take things a little slower than she would like, this time. 

Fortunately, she has the smell of the soap Liam had used all around her to rile her up again and idly she wonders what it would be like if Liam was here in the shower with her. There’s no concrete images, though; just the scent around her is enough to remind her of him, that ridiculous, tantalising, beautiful man, who reminds her of Earth and space stations and the outdoors and bathrooms and of nights stolen on second-hand couches when she’d needed them most.

She almost loses her balance when her she comes, presses two fingers into her cunt to ground herself in the pulses of her release. She’s going to need another shower after this one, she thinks.

That day, Drack doesn’t get any hot water at all. 

***  

The Pathfinder team’s environmental suits protect them from all sorts of hazards; temperature, radiation, the works. What do they not shield Sara from is the way that Liam smells as they work their way through a battlefield, clearing out some kett from where they’ve made their camp. 

 When they’ve made it to the nearest forward station, Sara and Liam and Cora all take off their helmets; Liam claps a hand to Sara’s back. She can feel the heat radiate from his fingers, travelling down from her shoulder down to her core.

No, seriously, shouldn’t the suits prevent this? She is going to burst into flame. SAM’s so ready to warn her of changes in environmental temperature at every other time, but now? Now he is conspicuously silent. 

“Good work out there, Ryder,” Liam says, and Sara can’t stop herself from smiling. Seriously, if the way Cora’s looking at her is any indication, she’s grinning like an absolute loon.

She tries to play it cool. “Yeah? Well, there’s more where that came from,” she says, flexing, though it loses its effect in the suit. Pity she’s always run hot, hot, hot. 

Cora makes a noise of mild exasperation in the back of her throat, but when Sara looks back at her, the other woman’s face in schooled in an expression of calm impassivity once more. It’s impressive. Sara finds herself wondering if Cora gives lessons. Sara could probably stand to be more professional, especially as she’s now the  _Pathfinder_ and all. Instead, she simply adds, “But for now, let’s get back to the ship.” 

It isn’t until it’s too late that she remembers just how small the inside of the Nomad is. 

 

***  

Sara is gross and sweaty but Liam smells divine. She’d almost forgotten just how amorous she becomes after a good fight, and she’s been having a lot more good fights lately. In her Alliance days, she’d used a gun less often, and she’d just always blown off steam with whoever was convenient. (Which was, to be honest, usually just herself). 

Now, though, she finds herself _wanting_  just one person in particular, and that person is sitting in the front passenger seat of the Nomad smelling like _Liam Kosta_ and sweat and the thrill of being alive. It takes all of her self-control to not bury her face into his armpit and _inhale_.

“Ryder!” Cora yells out as Sara almost drives the Nomad off a cliff. Sara swears, averting course at the last possible moment. Liam lets out a whoop of exhilaration. 

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughs, before gritting her teeth and doing her damnedest to get them back to their destination in one piece. Her mind is already giving her _ideas_  of what she wants to do once they get there. 

Once they reach the Tempest, Sara mentions to the others that she wants some alone time. Liam accepts it, boards the ship, but Cora’s more hesitant until she assures the other woman that she’s not going to do anything reckless. Just wants some time to herself in a way that she doesn’t feel she _can_  be, on the Tempest. The lieutenant flashes her a sympathetic smile, and maybe if Sara was a better person, she’d feel guilty for kind of lying to her.

But Sara has always been a bit selfish, so as soon as the others leave, she spreads herself out on the driver’s seat, leans towards the space Liam had so recently vacated and _breathes._

This time, she barely even needs to touch herself. 

She’s never come so fast in her life. 

 ***

Sara is _drowning_ , but all in all, it’s not an unpleasant way to die. 


	2. Get Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The glow in her eyes as she talks of exploration sends admiration shooting through his veins, and he suddenly, desperately, wants to kiss her again._
> 
> Or, Liam can't get Sara off _his_ mind.

 They never should've shagged on the couch. 

It's not that Liam regrets it. _Hell_ , no _._ The problem is, unfortunately, rather the opposite: he'd enjoyed himself far more than he'd had any right to. And now, everything in his little cranny reminds him of her. For instance, she's yet to retrieve the scarf she'd worn that evening. It's still slung over some boxes in the corner of the room, even though she's dropped by several times since. In his head, he's declared it an orphan. It seems to be enjoying its new home. He sits on his couch and studies the new indentations he finds there, can almost carve out the curve of her hip by memory, if he tries. 

And then, there's the _smell._ It clings to everything around him, inexorably changed, just like him. He knows her well enough, now (he thinks) to know if he'd told her that she smells like lavender and cherry blossoms (heaven) she'd probably roll her eyes and punch him playfully. Or would've, before they'd slept together. Shit. He really hopes he hasn't fucked things up. He'd hate that. For now, though, he does his best to play it cool. He'd promised her he wouldn't get clingy, and Liam's a man of his word.

It's hard, though, when she comes by so often, no pretenses. Sure, she visits the entire crew, but Liam's no idiot. He knows she saves him for last. 

Almost as if on cue, the door to his room slides open and the Pathfinder herself is standing in the doorway. The aroma of her scent intensifies, sweet and cloying. He can feel his blood rush south and he's too distracted trying to keep his bodily responses under control to pay proper attention to the conversation. Finds his eyes wandering over her face, instead, the way her lips curve into a grin as she recounts her and Vetra and Peebee's latest Remnant vault adventure, a mission that Liam was sadly sidelined for. The glow in her eyes as she talks of exploration sends admiration shooting through his veins, and he suddenly, desperately, wants to kiss her again.

_Settle down,_   _big boy,_  he tells himself. _Think about that time you walked in on Drack in the shower_.

It works, after a fashion, but that's when Sara leans in towards him, as close as she's ever been since that night, and takes a deep breath. She looks a bit clammy, now that he thinks about it. "You alright, Pathfinder?" he asks, hands in position as though to catch her should she fall. God, she smells amazing. He wonders if she'd taste just and nice and sweet under his tongue. The mental images the thought provides goes straight to his cock. He almost groans.

Sara's voice comes out as a stuttery laugh. "Y-yeah. See you around, Kosta." 

Liam's not entirely convinced she's all okay, but it's not his place to pry.

Besides, now he's all alone in his room again, and he has some privacy to take care of his ever-growing problem.  

***

 Liam settles back into the couch once he’s sure she’s properly left and not coming back, locking the door behind her for good measure. Last thing he needs is to be walked in on by Jaal or whoever. Which crew member would be the worst to be caught in the act by? It doesn’t bear thinking about, really, and in search of a distraction, _something_  to dispel his built up restlessness, he reaches down the front of his trousers and wraps a hand around his dick.

He’d softened, slightly, when he’d gotten too deep in his own head, worrying about the crew, but having his hand there, in position, causes him to swell again. How long has it been since his last wank, anyway? Before or after he’d been with Sara? 

He can’t remember.  The answer, clearly, is _too long_. He’s hard and ready with even the briefest of touches, knows that he’ll be gone pretty much as soon as he starts stroking in earnest. He fumbles around for the tissues he’s since acquired (two laundry cycles later, and his shirt is good as new, but he’s not having a repeat of last time, all the same), takes a deep breath.

It’s just like she’s sitting right there with him. This room smells like her. Her and sex. With each furious pump of his cock, he can feel himself chasing his release. 

He lasts just as long as he’d expected, which is to say, not at all, remembers to hold the tissues in position at the last possible moment before he comes, harder and longer than he’s ever had in recent memory. Right, he must’ve been real pent up.  

As he sits there, pants still shoved down around his hips, covered in a sheen of his own sweat, all he can think is that he feels like a teenage boy again; it’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t mind it. 

***

The next time he sees her, he’s leaving the bathroom, freshly showered, in just a towel. He’d been too lazy to bring a change of clothes with him, figures he doesn’t have far to go. So, naturally, _of course_ , that’s when he runs into Sara.  He catches the way her eyes travel down his torso before she looks back up at him and offers an uneasy smile. He wonders what she’s thinking about, wonders if she’s recollecting their last time together as well, and if she is…? He hopes she’s thinking good things.

“Hi, Kosta! Didn’t see you there,” she says breezily. Too breezily, if you ask Liam. She’s so close, it almost pains him that he can’t just hold her and press her against the wall and kiss her senseless.

But, no. He’d created this distance between them, had asked for it, in a manner-of-speaking. Sara Ryder is the _Pathfinder_ , the woman in charge of making sure that all twenty thousand of the colonists on the Hyperion will have a home one day, and Liam can’t get in the way of that.  Can he? 

He wants to. She’s still so close, it feels like electricity is crackling under his skin. He’s suddenly profusely aware of how little he’s wearing, and what’s likely to happen if he keeps letting his thoughts continue in their current direction ( _down)._ He goes to his old standby, Drack in the shower. Warns Sara that the krogan will use all the hot water, if she’ll let him.

Liam needs to get out of here; he feels awkward. Too awkward. He supposes this is why you don't jerk off to your friends. “Enjoy your shower,” he murmurs as he makes his way to leave, his arm brushing against hers as he does so. It’s the bare minimum of contact, but he’d be damned if it doesn’t go straight to his groin regardless.

Next time, he is _definitely_  bringing a change of clothes.

 

*** 

He’s never been one to get himself off in the shower, but the next time he’s in the bathroom, he’s reminded of his previous encounter with Sara. Warmth is all around him, water raining down on his skin, temperature perfectly regulated to soothe one’s aching muscles post-battle. What it doesn’t help with, however, is curbing one’s body’s natural instinctive responses to comfort. He can feel himself thickening without really meaning to, but it’s when he starts to soap himself up that he _remembers_  where he’s smelt this before.

It was when he was with her, on that couch, traces of an aroma that he’d just barely smelt underneath her usual perfume. She must have been freshly showered; everyone uses the same soap around these parts. He wonders if this soap reminds her of him in return. And _that_  thought just leads him down the slippery slope of imagining Sara in the shower (naked, his brain helpfully supplies, as though she'd be anything _but_ ). He still doesn't know what she looks like underneath all the layers she usually covers herself with, but he remembers the way her breasts had arched into his chest as they'd fucked, the way her arse had felt underneath his hands, how warm and wet and _tight_  she'd been when he had been sheathed within her. It's enough but at the same time _not,_ he can feel tension coursing through his body, he's wound so tightly he could snap.

He wants _more._

His cock throbs, restless and insistent; before he can chicken out, he reaches down and takes his length into his hand, gives himself a few exploratory strokes before remembering that he's in a communal bathroom. It's not like he can really lock the door in here, but he can keep an ear out, yeah? He's starting to think that not even the water turning suddenly cold around him could simmer him down now.

It's not like the last time he'd got himself off; he's still too nervy about the prospect of being walked in upon to truly go to town. It does give him the opportunity to take things more slowly, though, other hand coming down to cup his balls as he continues to pump, slow and steady and deliberate. Closes his eyes, imagines Sara in the shower naked in the shower next to him, imagines her touching herself. Remembers her teaching him the way she liked to he touched that night they'd fucked on the couch. 

Remembers the way she _smells,_ and both his heart and pace quicken; before he knows it, he's coming into his hand, thick spurts of ejaculate that he watches wash down the drain with a pang of guilt. 

He probably shouldn't do that again. It's not right. Besides, he's too old for this shit. 

Nonetheless, he has a funny feeling that this time won’t be the last.

 

***

They need to stop dancing around each other, Liam decides, so he's beyond relieved when Sara agreed to spend some time with him on Aya. Just actually spending time together, getting to know each other. That's what he wants. 

Trust him to overcomplicate matters, like an idiot. They could do anything, get another drink, together, but instead, he gets the Pathfinder involved in his current investigation without really telling her anything about it. Finds, with a heady sense of clarity that should scare him but doesn't, that he really, really cares what he thinks about her. 

So of course, he's going to fuck things up. Should have kept things simple, couldn’t. Should’ve just asked her what she wanted right from the very beginning.  Finds himself just hoping that she doesn't get into trouble. Now, that? That’s the _last_ thing he wants.   

*** 

For the better or the worse, Liam can’t get Sara off his mind. He’s sitting in a bathroom stall near the Tavetaan, grateful that in this place, at least, the angara have something that approximates the privacy Liam seeks. He’s starting to find he’s really having trouble thinking about Sara in public at all. He finds his cock stirring irritably at the mere memory of her; he’s not even recollecting the time they’d slept together at all, but instead, recalling the way the sun had reflected of her face when they’d met earlier, the way she had simply accepted his task without asking him for more information. He wants her body and soul and spirit, wants to wake up every morning with that now overwhelmingly familiar scent filling his nostrils.

The fabric of his pants is starting to chafe against his skin, and Liam adjusts himself so his motions are hidden from the view of anyone who might accidentally wander in. He’s not going to do this again, he tells himself, but he does run a hand over the burgeoning bulge in his trousers as though it would help. (It doesn’t.)

He’s a scant two second away from throwing caution to the wind again when suddenly, his commlink with Sara flares to life. He swears, pulls his hand back out from where it hand wandered underneath the waistband of his trousers. “Liam?” Sara’s voice asks over the comm, making his stomach swoop. Fortunately, the shock is enough to ward off any further arousal for now.

Had he? Really been about to? _Here_? He’s on an alien planet trying to secure information on a food source for his people. Nothing about the facts should have been stimulating in the least. Sara Ryder, however, has always been very capable of completely redirecting his train of thought. “Goddamn it,” he hisses, more at himself than anyone else, before heading off to wash his hands. “Come grab a table with me.” 

Things might have gone entirely pear-shaped, but there’s still a chance he can put this right. Right? She deserves it.

***  

Sara has every right to be furious with him, but she’s not half as mad as she could be. Understands, even, why he did what he did, even if she doesn’t want him doing it again. “I like being with you,” she tells him, and even counts what they’ve done together today as a date. This disaster, a date. Imagine that. The only logical explanation is that she’s at least half as smitten with him as he is with her. 

Sara Ryder remains amazing. There’s hope for the future, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of your Rydam needs, feel free to hit me up on Tumblr @commspecialist!


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